


A Swiftly Tilting Planet

by CiaranthLeBeckett



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: BAMF Leia Organa, Din Djarin & Cara Dune are Best Friends, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din The DILF Djarin, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Force-Sensitive Din Djarin, Grogu | Baby Yoda Being a Little Shit, Kid Fic, M/M, Mandalorian Clans (Star Wars), Mand’alor Din Djarin, More than one set of Twins!, POV Din Djarin, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnant Women Get Shit Done, Slow Burn Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Slowest Burn in the Galaxy, TWO IDIOTS IN SPACE, jedi twins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29009442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiaranthLeBeckett/pseuds/CiaranthLeBeckett
Summary: Din Djarin is not running away from his problems. He absolutely is not. Even if he was, he certainly wouldn't be breaking into a laboratory on a hunch, nor would he be stealing strangely clairvoyant children out of said laboratory, or save their heavily pregnant mother at his friend’s behest. He certainly wouldn't choose to acquire even more children—not after losing his son to the last Jedi in fifty square parsecs! Nor would he ever choose to put the weight of an entire people squarely on his shoulders.So shut /up/ Cara. Being Mand'alor does /not/ make him a king. Apparently, it just makes him the most eligible bachelor this side of Tatooine. FEATURING: The slowest burn of the two most powerful idiots in this—or any—galaxy.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 68
Kudos: 308





	1. At the Edge of Fortuna

**Author's Note:**

> So it has begun. I finally am posting something for the first time in years because of an adorable baby yoda. 
> 
> I am diverting from the movie verse by including the Solo twins, but this is a diversion from the canon ANYWAYS. Plus, who wouldn't want more force-sensitive babies? WE ALL LOVE BABIES. 
> 
> ESPECIALLY DIN DJARIN. 
> 
> Please be patient as I work out the timeline on this thing. Everyone's age is as close to cannon as I can possibly make it with my limited access to Wookiepedia and such. For the translation of the Mando'a by order of appearance look to the bottom of the chapter.

Din was going to kill him. 

Only Fett would send him out on a wild goose chase based on some tall tale trailing five parsecs on the lips of Lak Shivrak—of all the bleeding informants.

Din was grateful for the distraction, truly he was, but running around on some Outer Rim swamp was _not_ his idea of a good time.

He was going to have to correct that old spacer’s definition of distraction. 

There _was_ something here though, to Din’s chagrin and Fett’s delight. Three ports later—all looking as though they were drowning in vegetation, water, _and_ people—and he was convinced Boba had been right. Call it a feeling, which Din did _not_ , or even an instinct, but he’d felt a flutter of it kicking in his gut the moment he’d arrived.

That was two weeks ago and nothing had changed. If anything, the feeling had only grown stronger.

Now Din was at his fourth port, and the largest. Drei’k Kobar was not the capital, but rather a major southern hub of commerce. Rammed up against the edge of a lake so large it stretched beyond the horizon, it maintained a vast jungle looming where the lake ended, hemming the city's populous into a slice. Between the razor-toothed fish and muddy bogs that swallowed chattel whole, Din was having a hard time seeing the port-city’s appeal.

 _Especially_ when the humidity threatened to drown him standing.

There’d been a tangible sign of his hunch in Drei’k Abul, the second city. Which was the only reason why the bounty hunter had carried on his pursuit—A room hastily emptied, a cleaning rag swollen with a type of polish no _dar’manda_ would know how to make, and scratches on the door frame made by idle hands— _children’s_ hands. 

And so here he was, hopping between settlements on a trail that should have been warm, but slapped him cold at every turn. The _Mando’ade_ knew his people were excellent at hiding, but this was excessive. 

When desperation threatened to eat at his insides, Din Djarin felt keenly the weight of the Dark Saber strapped to his thigh.

There weren’t many children in these ports, at least not out in the open. The few he did see were with parents who either gripped their hands tightly or had them perpetually strapped to backs and sides. Din had always been observant, but he’d be blind not to read the signs. Something was decidedly _off_ in Fortuna, and he had every intention of finding out why. 

“Someone’s been stealin’ chitlins,” the spice trader whispered over the lip of his drink. They were tucked into the shaded corner of a well-to-do watering hole in the merchant's district. He’d taken one look at Din after he walked in and flagged the hunter down long enough to ply the cost of a drink out of him. 

“Where are they being taken?” Din said, his voice controlled on a razor’s edge. 

“No one really knows. There is a high demand for medi-trade here. Fortuna is a planet used primarily to grow the ingredients for bacta products. If you didn’t notice, you’re standin’ in a planet-wide swamp bucket. Plenty of bacteria here,” the trader griped, taking a long swig of the fluorescent grog popular around these parts. 

“What do children have to do with bacta production?” And Din honestly couldn't say he knew anything about it. New possibilities began to swim in his head. 

“Small hands,” and the trader held up his own larger ones, “Little bodies to get in between machinery, or perhaps they don’t sink as quick in the bog for material collection. It could be anythin', what with the lack of regulation this far out. Not even the Old Republic held much sway this far into the Outer Rim.”

Din inhaled. White-hot heat exploded from behind the plates on his chest. A clear image of little green fingers twisting into wires where they shouldn’t be—a crushing ache traveled up, then down each one of his extremities.

It was so sudden, so immediately felt, it was all Din could do to stay seated upright. It took him longer than it should to find his voice again. 

“And what...Where do you think they are taken?” 

“Who knows? It’s a big planet. Lots of jungle. Lots of scum lookin’ for a quick credit. Food’s not scarce, neither is buildin’ material…though the hands it passes through is few and far between,” the trader’s eyes swiveled in three directions, before he leaned back in, “If I were you though, with all that armor and angry feelin’ swirlin’ about, I’d go lookin’ in Drei’k Hugar. Nasty bit of business over there, but it'd be where I—if I was stealin’ what wasn’t mine ye kin—would go not to get caught.” 

Din’s brow rose beneath his helmet, and somehow he felt that the trader could see it, “Why are you helping me?”

“ _Because_ _I_ _don’t_ _like_ _Boris_ _Baggarty_ —and neither does his brother,” the trader said, weighty with certainty, “Consider it a favor. From the Gran of Kinyen to your people, _Your_ _Highness_.” 

The trader stood then, perhaps unaware of the kind of shock he’d delivered, and bowed his head before leaving Din to his thoughts. 

* * *

He had honestly not considered anyone recognizing him. Sure, Din was _Mando’ade_ and would catch attention regardless of where he went, but there wasn’t much rumor surrounding him, or even the results of his actions against Moff Gideon not more than a year ago. This was a double-edged sword, in Din’s personal opinion. Part of him wished the rumors would reach his people, and that they would come home hearing of his victory and reclamation of the homeworld. The other side feared at how troublesome it would make his traveling to find them. He’d have to consult the Armorer when he returned to Manda—Din cringed in his helmet.

She might _actually_ kill him. 

Especially with the trouble he was about to cause. 

The location and owner of the Dark Saber was _supposed_ to remain under the radar, at least until the reestablishment of the capital, Keldabe. Din could almost feel the weight of her glare at the back of his helmet as he landed the ship in Drei’k Hugar.

Barely even started, and he was already fekking it up. 

And yet, what did Din care if some goaty Gran got a favor out of the _Mand’alor_? It wasn’t like he was going to be the leader long enough for the bastard to cash it in. Inevitably it would become someone else’s problem—that same someone who was bound to win a trial-by-combat against Din, obtaining for themselves the title and the Dark Saber.

The _Mando’ade_ wasn’t modest enough to claim to be anything but strong, yet even he knew there was always going to be someone stronger. The cluster-fuck he’d found himself in would go away soon enough and then he would be able to get back to...back to—

Din shut his mind from _that_ train of thought. He’d get nothing done dwelling upon things that couldn’t change and questions he couldn’t answer. Let the others figure out his future. His people were priority now. Just because an Empire or two fell didn’t make their situation less dire.

 _“Find your people, Din Djarin, and don't get killed.”_

The Armorer’s voice rang clear around in his helmet—the last piece of advice before shoving him out of her forge.

* * *

The hardest part of any stakeout was not jumping the gun, Din thought. 

For the last two days he’d looked up the Baggarty Pharma Co., haggled with a grocer over a pack of rations, and managed to get into her good graces long enough to get a lay out the city. Drei’k Hugar was not the largest city on Fortuna, if one could even called it that. Most of it was taken over by a labyrinth of manufacturing and industrial complexes. The townie side, small as it was, was damp and half eaten by vegetation. Its people were modest, but firm. Blunter than Din had expected, but he could appreciate a lack of duplicitousness where he expected to find nothing but smugglers and slavers. 

He hadn’t seen a single child while doing recon in the city. It made a sick slither creep up his spine to find silence in streets where there should have been play and laughter. The trader had been right about Drei’k Hugar—it was a viper’s den. 

_"Youez know, I saw one of youez a while ago. A big one too. Almost as big as me! Pretty banged up, though, in the armor. Blue and gold, of all colors. I didn’t know youez guyz came in blue. Moonz above, youez wouldn’t believe the ruckus he was making—barging through a Fortuna port like them Imps were racing after him! Naught but a little human it was. Fire-eyed and swinging a blaster like she knew what she was doing with it. Lupa’s Mane! Make a Vrakka howl any day. So anywayz, that blue Mando anyone youez know?”_

Lak Shivrak’s story looped over and over in Din’s head. Yeah, he had an idea of who the _Mand’oade_ could be. If it _was_ —with what he’d figured out this far into Fortuna’s interior—Din would be hard pressed not to burn the city down to find him.

Opportunity appeared in the form of a weasel—or rather a weasel-looking human in a Baggarty uniform rushing down the (almost) unoccupied lane wedged between two reinforced complexes. Nothing but trash compactors and bio-locked fire exits, one of which the _Mando’ade_ was shadowed in the overhang of.

If a man was trying to get to work, having realized he was going to be late, Din expected these entrances—well away from the heavily guarded service docks and main thoroughfares—to be the preferred choice. Eight hours into the stake out, and his instincts had proven correct. 

Din was almost sorry to knock the man unconscious. Then again, he did work for possible kidnappers—a thought that gave the bounty hunter enough reason and pleasure to tighten the man’s restraints with more force than necessary. And when the door not only required a PARtag but a fingerprint as well? Well Din was more than happy to relieve the man of both. 

Thankfully the weasel had high enough clearance to get Din easily through the service corridors into the laboratories beyond. 

“ _Xeno_ - _genetic_ _specialist_ , what in all _haran_ is that?” the hunter muttered, properly s seeing the PARtag for the first time as he was sliding through a grid-like office block. 

It was the off-shift. Like most of the city’s other factories and plants, the laboratories cycled through thirteen-hour shifts. Din watched the Baggarty’s comings and goings for a little more than a day before deciding to set his trap. The labs were bound to have projects that needed constant monitoring, but the off-shift didn’t require a full rack of employees milling about. Made Din’s weaving in and out of hallways and rooms easier.

Instinct said discretion was the better part of valor for now. 

Besides, there were plenty of supply closets to stow himself or others away. Din was, however, going to run out of room for fingers. 

_Damn it_. He needed bigger pockets.

* * *

Hours passed and Din was no closer to finding what he needed. What he just _knew_ had to be there. Time pressed into the back of his helmet like a warning. He’d been lucky this far.

That luck could just as easily run out.

Eventually, someone was going to notice that many missing bodies. 

Din Djarin was not prone to panic. Desperation, on the other hand, was an old friend. It liked to slap him when he least expected it.

Maker, he was going to find that fucking goat after this and hang him up by his fat toes. No one gave a false tip to a _Mando’ade_ and lived.

It was just bad for business. 

“ _Osik._ ” 

Din backpedaled. The two uniformed guards hadn’t seen him, thank feck, but they were headed his way with a purpose.

Somebody must have noticed Karl hadn’t come back from the crapper.

Quietly, Din turned around the corner he’d just come—some unadorned hallway much like the rest of this part of the perimeter block.

He needed a door, and he needed it locked behind him. _Now_.

Din’s eyes scanned his options. Seven doors. Two labeled. Three of them obviously opened to storage or supplies. That left the one in the center right with no markings, or the one on its other side labeled ‘ _The_ _Hemmer_ ’—which meant absolute fekking crag to Din.

But it didn’t sound good, nor empty. 

“ _Haar’chak!_ ”

He cursed under his breath, and chose the unmarked door. Scrambling with a quickly chosen PARtag and finger, he dropped them both trying to see the identification. Lunging for the thumb as it rolled away, he managed to smashed it against the door’s sensor as heavy boots came around the corner. 

Falling backwards into the room, the door slid closed in front of Din with a snap. _Silence_. Makers above, he hoped to have gotten lucky.

A soft gasp behind the hunter sounded as the low light sensors caught his movements and flickered on. Within seconds and a swift twist of his boots, the _Mando’ade_ had his blaster leveled, charged, and _pointed_ _at a human face_.

Years of training alone froze Din’s trigger finger. _Dank farrik_ , he was glad for that as his mind finally registered the image. 

Dark eyes, like twin skies, were wide and staring. A child—barely a meter high topped with curls inky black—was strapped to a chair in the center of the cramped room. Machines and wires wove all around, were _attached_ to the kid. A faint heartbeat beat away on the monitor for all to hear as the bright orbs grew impossibly wider, taking in the imposing figure of a _Mando’ade_ in full baskar.

Din had never seen so long of lashes or as full a mouth on a human so pale and small. He looked no more real than a doll. 

A doll that didn’t immediately cry out with a blaster aimed at his face.

“You’re a Mandalorian.”

It certainly got right to the point of things. 

"Yes, I am. And who are you?”

He was never more thankful for a voice modulator. It wouldn’t do to frighten the kid more, not with the grit grinding at Din’s throat. The walls around the pair felt oppressive, as if they were closing in on him. 

The question seemed to catch up in the kid’s head. Perhaps he’d sensed the bounty hunter’s intentions or— _by_ _the_ _kriffing_ _forge—_ maybe he realized he wasn’t in immediate danger anymore. And like a flipped switch, the kid's face scrunched up, mottling skin from white to red, and became bountifully wet with a hiccuping sob. Twiggy, bird-thin arms stretched out beyond the restraints as far as they could reach. _Towards him_. Towards _Din_.

He was desperate for _Din Djarin,_ of all people, to hold him. 

That white-hot fire burned again as the bounty hunter rushed forward. He shut down everything he could think of. Pulled at any wires his hands could reach. They couldn’t afford some alarm sounding because a fist crushed one of the machines—no matter how tempting.

All the while the boy just cried. Eerily silent as little hands grabbed and gripped at Din’s armor. Too impatient to fiddle with buckles, he broke the boy’s restraints and gloves hands lifted. 

Din found himself so full of shivering, crying, clinging kid. A deep ache, one he'd tried to forget, eased a little with the sensation. He couldn't help but run his glove up and down a barely clothed back. Even with his baskar on, the kid felt hot to the touch. A fever? Din removed a glove to confirm as his sensors whirred.

What kind of fekking monsters made a sick kid sit in a cold room in the dark? Rage resurged from the low simmer inside him, a righteousness that had arms tighten and a body sway—He rocked the child to keep himself occupied. To keep the _Mando’ade_ present and far from revenge.

Now was not the time.

 _Later_.

Din tried to salvage his scattered thoughts. He wanted to call Fett, Cara, bring in fekking _anyone_ come to help him.

The reality of stealing a kid out of this place—the child being confirmation that there may be _more_ —Well, he knew he wasn't going to get a second shot. Din'd have to get them all now, if there were any more to save. If he didn't...if he didn't—

 _"One thing at a time, oh great Mand'alor. Don't frick it up because your head was too far up your ass to see the big picture."_

Only when the kid had settled to hid his face in the space between Din’s neck and shoulder did he deign to finally speak. 

“What?” Din couldn’t understand the muffled sounds coming from his shoulder. The little one heaved, one great big sigh, and came to a decision. 

Snot connected from chest plate to a ruddy nose as the little one pulled his head back, putting some distance between them. 

Din could care less about the mess, transfixed as he was by night skies and smoky wisps.

The kid whispered, entreating the _Mando’ade_ to understand, so exhausted and worldweary—

“Ben. My name is Ben, and I _knew_ you would come save me, Din Djarin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dar'manda - Non-Mandalorians, also can be translated to "Lost Ones", or "Those Without Souls". Context clues as to which meaning is used.  
> Haran - or "hell".  
> Dank Farrik - an epitaph/curse.  
> Mando'ade - The People/Children of Mandalore. What Mandalorians call themselves.  
> Osik - "Shit."  
> Haar'chak - "Damn it."


	2. A Belly of Beasties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You seem to have acquired another little shadow, verd'ika.”  
> Din grunted, feigning dropping the giant.  
> “By the fekking forge, I was only joking! You would drop an injured man?”   
> "Can it, mir’sheb. I could have just left you."  
> “You wouldn’t dare.”   
> Din leveled his glare.   
> "As you wish, oh great Mand'alor." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! Normally I'd give myself a week to complete the next chapter, but I had some time off from work. I thought I'd put it to some good use. I want to see where the story goes just as much as you do. A good chunk is already mapped out, but like every project, surprises come out of nowhere. 
> 
> Again, forgive any discrepancies with the timeline. We're trying our best with limited resources. I'm translating as much as I can from the actual canon and extended universe, but a large bit of it (with only two seasons of the Mandalorian out) will have to be finessed. 
> 
> My thoughts are my own. Star Wars isn't mine, but damn it's really fun to go frolicking in that galaxy.

Din will admit to no one that he almost dropped the kid. 

What else was he supposed to do when the kid said a name he never should have heard? That same kind of _strangeness_ , the weird that hovered around his _ad’ika_ — _Breathe, Din_. _That’s it. In. Out._

He couldn’t figure this out right now. There were things to be done, people to save, including the small force wielder.

 _Focus_ , _Djarin_. _This was never going to be some simple extraction_. 

Din’s jaw clenched. The rage threatening to spill over inside bubbled up into his gut. The kid shifted, whining as if he could sense the warrior’s unrest—probably could being a _tiny_ _sorcerer—_

Palms slapped Din's helmet to get his attention.

“Ben!” 

“Yes, you are Ben. Are you alone? Are there more children, _dha’ika_?” Din said softly, apologizing for his distraction _._

The boy’s eyes had trouble focusing on where his hands had landed. A result of the fever? Or perhaps something more sinister. He glared at the wires on the floor. _In and out, Djarin, keep your head._

Ben fiddled around but didn’t immediately answer, closing his eyes as a wrinkle formed between two thick smudges for eyebrows.

 _What a serious expression_ _to be on a face of so few winters,_ Din thought. 

“I _feel_ them. I haven’t seen them, but they are there.”

The boy’s hand stretched out down the hall, back the way Din had already come. Relief washed through him as he adjusted his grip on the kid, a hand brushing thready wisps off a sweaty brow.

The kid had a hell of a lot of hair. So different from Gro— 

“I’m going to ask you to be brave, Ben.”

The boy struggled to lift his head, focusing on the voice more than Din's image, “I need you to help me find the others. Can you do that, _dha’ika_?” 

Ben nodded, enthusiastic in spite of the circumstances. He didn’t smile wide or toothily—to which Din had the idle wondering if there would be _dimples_ if he did—but instead tucked tiny curves away into the corners of bowed lips; like a secret shared just between Din and him.

_Careful, Djarin, he’s not your kid._

Well, not _yet_. 

Were all children like this? Despite the distressing circumstances, Ben seemed so bright now that he’d had a good cry and a set of arms to hold him. The _Mando’ade_ knew he hadn’t been around many children given his line of work. Not since Din had been no more than a child himself had he been surrounded them, and never for extended periods, not really, not since—Din decided that it was time to move on.

“I’m going to open the door now. I’ll wrap you up and hold you tight. If I put you down—for whatever reason, no matter what’s happening—I want you to run and hide, understood?” 

Ben was happy to be swaddled and proceeded to bury his face in the rough fabric of the cloak. Din pulled out his blaster. Once more, for luck, the hunter squeezed the precious bundle.

“When I ask, I need you to point me in the right direction. When I tell you to look away, I want you to do so. For now, just be very, _very_ quiet.”

The child lifted his thumb into the air.

“What’s that?” Din asked.

For one horrified second Din thought about the fingers in his pockets. 

“My thumb is up,” Ben said, and when the silence damned Din to having any recognition, “It means ‘yes’.” 

“Oh.” 

Din felt a little like an idiot, and lifted his gloved thumb into the air. 

Ben’s lips curled again into their secret, so Din must have done it right. Any sort of signal between them was good in the bounty hunter’s book if it kept the kid from talking during his extraction. The boy didn’t seem loud by nature, but everything and anything could echo down a metal hallway. Slapping the exit on the door, Din carefully leaned his visor out.

Coast clear, he stepped out gripping both bundle and blaster as a little scarecrow’s arm pointed like a compass towards the others. 

* * *

It was a lot worse than he thought it would be. Which, honestly, was a feat, because he’d thought he’d seen it all— _Nine. There were nine of them._

Nine children, all younger than six or seven winters, were staring at Ben and then to Din in disbelief. Various states of dress and health, but none appeared as sickly as _dha’ika_. Skinny—all of them much too skinny—but nothing that couldn’t be fixed. _Thank the_ _forge._ Din felt overwhelmed with so many eyes on him, and yet there remained a profound sense of relief. These ones he could save. This he was in time for. 

Two of the children were quicker to recover from the shock than the others. One, a twi’lek girl, exploded into heaving sobs as she collapsed onto her tatty cot. The other, whom Din clocked as their probable leader, shot to standing shouting, “ _Ori’vad! Ori’vad cuyir olar!_ ” 

“ _K’olar, ade._ Come here. All of you,” Din did not raise his voice, but was heard and, miraculously, obeyed. Perhaps they could all get out of this in one piece? _Maker, please let him get them all out of this in one piece._

Ben had led Din without fail around a snake of hallways to a bunkroom hidden behind another unmarked door—one Din was beginning to suspect was unmarked for the sole purpose of discouraging curiosity. Made him want to double-check every door they passed just to be safe. He himself had stalked right by the bunker without a second glance. Din chose not to think about the possible consequences had he not found Ben.

“I need everyone to gather their shoes and find a partner. We’re going to leave now.”

The foundlings, used to hurried instructions, did as they were told with nary a protest. The others followed along as best they could. The smallest, not much bigger than his own _ik’aad_ , grasped a stuffed bantha toy before the leader picked her up to piggy on his back. The twi’lek girl was still crying, but an echani boy had managed to quiet her down long enough to stand near Din and the door. 

“What’s wrong with him?” one of the humans asked, this one copper-haired and tanned from a life already filled with sunshine, “Did they take too much this time?” 

Din did not have the _fortitude_ to unpack that statement presently, and so answered back—“He is sick. A fever.” 

That was enough for all the children to come crowd against Din—who realized then that all that must have been stopping them before was their fear of further injuring Ben. He tried to put hands on each of them—ruffled halos of untamed hair and squeezed rail-thin shoulders. They piled all in together, caring not for the coldness of his armor, only that he was here and that to some he was safe and familiar. 

“Ok.” Din said, catching the lump in his throat, “Ok, it’s time to go.” 

“I’m going to give the same rules to you as I did to Ben. Most important, be _silent_. If I tell you to look away, look away. If I tell you to run, you must grab your partner and run. Do not worry for me, just run as far as you can and hide. _Understood_?” 

A sea of grim faces, some more determined than others, nodded as one together. 

“Ok.” 

Din closed his eyes to find his center, then turned intending to close the distance between his free hand and the door—“But what about _him_?” 

Din sighed, the tips of his fingers hovering over the exit switch, “What do you mean, _dha’ika_?”

A child’s voice inside Din’s head rang out—“ _What about Paz?_ ” 

Din swore he wasn’t going to drop the kid again.

* * *

“I will be back for you.” 

The foundling leader—whom Din had guessed correctly was the oldest at seven and a half—shook his head. Dark skin ashen with fear and want, drew his mouth down in a firm line.

“ _Tion’ad hukaat’kama_?” 

Din couldn’t help but smile as he chuffed the kid’s chin. Bravery was strong in this one—a trait any _Mando'ade_ would be proud of in a son. 

“When the time comes, you will. For now you must watch over them. That is all you must do. I have spoken.” 

The foundling took a shuddering breath in, and nodded, accepting the decision, “This is the Way.” 

“This is the Way.” 

* * *

Din was spooked. 

He could admit this inside the sanctity of his own head. It wasn’t every day a little wizard spoke into your mind, but the bounds of reality hadn’t been so rigid since Din’s _ad’ika_ came into his life. Who was he to say what was normal anymore? Maybe Grogu was too young to— 

The _Mando’ade_ had left the kids to find Paz. Better to run around with the one, than to get caught with a gaggle of limpalongs trailing hot behind him. The children’s protests were loud and probably valid, but Din couldn’t disregard the obvious risk. No, he’d just have to drag Paz out of whatever hole they’d put him in, then they’d both get the kids out— _together_ —flying far, far away. 

Din couldn’t justify blowing the place up either—no matter how much he _wanted_ to—not with the possibility of more innocents hidden away, or even further afield in this labyrinth of a city. That his kind were often hired guns was the only thing in Don’s mind that was working in their favor should someone put two and tow together. And Ben hadn’t mentioned anyone else thus far, but then he was barely on the cusp of five winters and decidedly _not_ in the right state of mind. Although well adjusted for a kid, he was very young and very sick. Din couldn’t expect him to perform any miracles. 

Time ticked away, pressing against the back of Din's helmet. He was running out of it. 

“There!” _dha’ika_ whispered, pointing his finger through the glass of a window they passed. Din halted, and took a step back to see where that finger—and Din cursed colorfully under his breath. 

“You didn’t hear any of that.” 

Ben lifted his thumb out of the cloak, before tucking both arms back in.

“Paz Vizla is asleep. The bad men in coats will leave soon.” 

“You don’t say?” 

“It is lunch time.” 

The glass they were looking through opened to an arena of science—a multilevel bowled-out pit with catwalks built around its various observation decks. The bottommost floor held a swath of control consoles and desks with monitors, chairs, and _Paz_ —his _beskar'gam_ thankfully still left on him and intact _—_ lying supine and strapped to an aluminum table. No wires or machines this time, but certainly a cadre of gnarly instruments laid off to the side. It seemed the rescue mission arrived just in time. Din grinned, Paz was going to owe him so bad this time. 

“They caught him trying to break in yesterday. _I_ _heard_ _him_ —” The little wizard frowned, remembering the unpleasantness, “—when the lightning shocked him.”

Din realized Ben meant he hadn't necessarily heard Paz aloud, but that was a discussion for later. For now he had to decide where to stash the kid so he could break the _Mando’ade_ out. A tone sounded over the intercom system—the call to break for lunch. All the pit employees stood then, moving to shut down screens, or write out their last scribbles on data-pads, before exiting the side doors where Din assumed was the direction of the mess hall. All but a few sparsely stationed guards had left.

Numbers alone, it was nothing he couldn’t handle, but he'd have to be quick—

“Don’t leave me. _P_ _lease._ Take me with you _._ ” 

Din got the feeling that the ‘please’ was added arbitrarily, as if the boy was trying to remember some form of manners. Ben refused look at Din’s eyes through the visor, mulling over his thoughts as little hands balled up into fists. Then he huffed, glaring up at his newfound protector as he fussed to be let down.

Freed, Ben stood straight with his chin thrust forward, even as the fever made him sway. It was as close to intimidating as the boy could get whilst being swallowed up by Din’scloak. 

“I will have to fight the guards,” the bounty hunter added, seeing if the threat of obvious violence could dissuade the darkling from following him in.

“I will wait. I will be quiet. I will sit outside until you call.” 

He didn’t have the heart to argue with that. Not the most direct or obvious threat, necessarily, but Din appreciated the boy’s attempt at compromise. 

“Ok.” 

* * *

"You seem to have acquired another little shadow, _verd'ika_.”

The voice came out tinny, and Din thought the circuitry must be fried in Paz’s modulator. The blue helmet was turned away from Din as he worked, watching as Ben approached from outside the door Din had hidden him against. With the last strap freed, the giant of a _Mando’ade_ swung his legs down and off the examination table. Bodies littered the deck around them, but neither the _Mando’ade_ nor the kid himself seemed to mind as he hopped over strewn limbs and blasters alike to get to them. Din knew Paz, the asshole, was grinning at him beneath that helmet.

Din grunted at the sheer weight of holding Paz up, and feigned dropping the tree-sized jerk. The warrior hissed like a rada-cat, wrapping his muscular arm more securely around Din’s shoulders. 

“ _By_ _the_ _fekking forge,_ I was only joking! You would drop an injured man?” 

"Can it, _mir’sheb_. I could have just left you. Gotten them all out by myself, and left you here to rot."

“You wouldn’t _dare_.” 

Din leveled his glare. 

Paz tilted his head, coy, as he replied, "As you wish, oh great _Mand'alor_." 

Which made Din trip them both over his boots.

" _Osik_!"

Din smacked Paz in the helmet, once they’d pulled themselves back on to their feet, “No cursing in front of _D_ _ha’ika._ ”

“Already named him, have you?” 

They could see a puff of black curls bouncing along behind a long console table.

“Keep your clapper shut, _Paz_. I mean it.”

They quieted as the baby wizard approached. He waved up to them, eying the bear-like _Mando’ade_ with caution. Passing muster—or whatever passed for muster for them— _dha’ika_ lifted his arms to Paz in the universal sign of ‘up’. The infantrymanobliged, helpless to resist the child’s demands as any Mandalorian, and tucked the little one into the curve of his good side. 

“Hello. I’m Ben.” 

“Hello, Ben.” 

“And you’re Paz Vizla. I like your armor. I didn’t know Mandalorians painted it. Din Djarin is the first I saw, except you, and _his_ armor doesn’t have paint.”

Din felt Paz stiffen, caught off guard by Ben’s uncanny knowledge, before forcing himself to relax. It was a testament to their shared experiences that Paz didn’t drop Don’s foundling immediately. Din didn’t want to admit how grateful for that he was. Explanations would certainly be passed around once they got out and into safe quarters.

Paz ogled the kid through his visor a moment more before finding an appropriate answer, “Yes, we paint them. Each color has meaning. Different ones are associated with different clans and feelings. Maybe I could teach you about them after all of this?” 

Ben smiled a little wider than before, tiny bunny teeth showing. An itch of jealousy settled between Din's shoulder blades, but the hunter forced himself to shrugged it off. To be jealous of Paz was ridiculous. Without fail, the man had always had _ade_ flock to him. Din suspected it was the man’s size and weaponry that attracted curious minds.

Whatever it was, it was partly why Paz had been selected to become the _B_ _ajur'alor_ of their covert before it—Stop. _  
_

 _He's not your kid._

Not _yet._

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” 

And so they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ad’ika - “Little One”. Used in reference to any child of any age.  
> Dha’ika - or “Little Dark”, could also be seen as “Little Darkling”, which is what is intended.  
> Ori’vad - “Big brother”, a term for actual siblings, or other, older male members of a tribe.  
> Ori’vad cuyir olar! - “Big brother you are here!”  
> K’olar! - “Come!”  
> Ik’aad - a baby, a child under three.  
> “Tion’ad hukaat’kama?” - Who’s watching your back?  
> Beskar'gam - beskar armor.  
> Verd’ika - “Little soldier/private”. Private, as in rank. Context is everything. This case, Paz is referring to a nickname between them that stuck.  
> Mir’sheb - “smart ass”.  
> Osik! - literal “Dung” (impolite), with the Common equivalent of “Shit!”.  
> Ade - "children", even "sons" or "daughters".  
> Badjur'alor* - A combination of "badjur", or to "teach", and "alor", or leader.  
> *Note, I have combined these two words to the best of my understanding of Mando'a. This is not a word found in any dictionary, but follows the order of naming, such as Mand'alor. "Mand" as in Mando'ade, and "alor" for leader.


	3. Split Between Two Ships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Strength is life, for the strong have the right to rule.  
> Honor is life, for with no honor one may as well be dead.  
> Loyalty is life, for without one's clan one has no purpose.  
> Death is life, one should die as they have lived.  
> This is the Way."
> 
> -The Cannons of Honor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third and final chapter of this week has arrived. Still chugging along, it seems, and next week will bring more. I'm trying to keep a decent pace. 
> 
> I'm not going to lie, I feel as though this story has barely started and I'm already expecting to lock in for the long haul. I don't imagine this too be anything less than thirty chapters. Maybe more. Golly. 
> 
> Tighten those bootstraps buckos, cause we're going for a ride. <3

"Strength _is life, for the strong have the right to rule._  
Honor _is life, for with no honor one may as well be dead._  
Loyalty _is life, for without one's clan one has no purpose._  
Death _is life, one should die as they have lived._  
This is the Way."

- **The Cannons of Honor**

* * *

Din _might_ have blown something up. 

In his defense, it was done in the service of giving Paz enough time to get the younglings into a cruiser large enough to hold them. The second explosion following the first then allowed the _Mando’ade_ to hot-wire said ride. Nobody died—well none of _them_ died—so it all worked out in the end. 

The Armorer couldn’t be too angry with him. 

Sitting in the hover cruiser now, beneath a pile of exhausted, sleeping kids _,_ he was more than happy to let Paz dictate their direction. He’d been here on Fortuna longer than Din, and claimed to have a base of operations established at the edge of the city. Someone younger than him might have balked at allowing another to set the course, but Din was steadfast in his belief that Paz Vizla was dedicated to the Old Ways.

The warrior would die to protect the foundlings, the _dar’manda_ children, and even _Din_ given his status as the wielder of the Dark Saber. He’d made that abundantly clear by proclaiming him _Mand’alor._

Din sighed— _What a fekking mess._

“We’re getting close!” Paz shouted over his shoulder, the wind whipping his words back into Din’s visor. 

“About how far out?” 

“Give or take, one and a half clips.” 

“Then why are you so tense?” 

Paz snorted, caught out, before adjusting Ben to lay off him in the seat. The little wizard claimed shotgun during the escape for his own undefinable reasons. Din was trying to not take it personally. That itch was starting to feel permanently stuck on his back. 

“Well, I didn’t expect the welcome I got when I arrived. There’s someone at the hideaway—a woman—”

“—Paz, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Can it, you! She’s _dar’manda,_ and the whole kriffing reason I even dove into that Baggarty _cesspit_. Nearly took my head off before I could talk some sense into her. Claimed her kid got stolen by ex-Imps—” 

Paz twisted around a tight curve between two metal pillars. The greenery began to overwhelm the buildings this far out of the city’s industry center. Din would have chosen a place like this himself to hide in if he’d been pressed. Fewer people, less exposure, multiple exit routes—

“She’s got strange powers, like yours—like _him_ —” 

Paz fingers threaded through inky silk swirls before returning to the cruiser controls. 

“ _Jetii_?” 

“Says she ain’t, but I’m _Mando’ade_ so why would she tell me? Whoever they are—Well, it’s enough for the Imps to kidnap her and kill everyone else on her ship. Thought I was workin’ for ‘em—of all the kriffing ideas—before I convinced her otherwise—”

Din got the feeling that there had been a lot of guns involved in that decision. 

“—She’s there now. At the hidey-hole. Couldn’t have both of us go in for retrieval, especially not in her condition. And with the other little ones needing attending—” 

Din’s grip tightened on his blaster, poised aloft against the length of the backseat in case they came under fire.

“—More? More survived?”

Paz was silent, staring straight ahead before he answered. 

“I got ‘em all, _Mand’alor._ We got lucky. Training exercises had ‘em gathered up runnin’ drills when it all happened. After you left for the kid—well, we were all separated for a time. The older ones did as they were taught. Got out—somehow to kriffing _Fortuna_ of all places, and waited for me to find ‘em. Jayko and the boys were running for supplies here when the _adiik_ were taken. Kid’s probably still beside himself, being so close to getting his colors, and with this happening—”

Din could hear the pain Paz was not speaking of. The fear the older _ade_ must have suffered having made it this far, only to then lose their most vulnerable numbers, and of Paz’s desperation to reunite with them all. He felt compelled to reach out, to place a hand on the man’s shoulder and grip tight. 

“ _Vor entye, ner vod. Gar ru'akaanir urakto._ ” 

The tension in Paz’s shoulders clicked away in increments the longer Din held onto him, until the warrior finally released a deep-seated breath. 

_“Par ner ijaat.”_

Din squeezed his hand once more before settling back into his seat, releasing the warrior from his _Mand’alor’s_ eyes. Din busied himself by adjusting the grumbling children. A comfortable quiet lulled beneath the sounds of the cruiser and wind for the rest of the journey. 

Nothing else needed to be spoken between them. 

* * *

_“Olaror!”_

_“Ori’vad! Ori’vad! Gar enteyor olaror!”_

_“Olaror! Ori’vad!”_

Like ghosts, the older _ade_ melted from the shadows of the vine-covered compound as the cruiser slowed to a stop. Din counted seven—teenagers diverse in colors and varying heights—as they rushed forward to put hands on the warriors and _adiik_ , removing them from the confines of the hovercraft and into their arms. Paz set Ben down on his feet before addressing the tallest boy—Jayko, if Din had to guess, who looked closer to a man than a child. 

_“Meg ru'banar?_ ” Paz commanded.

“She’s ill.” 

“The fever hasn’t broken?” 

“Nothing we do helps. Maez caught her before she collapsed, but she has not risen for two days. I tried to go out again, to find a healer but—” Jayko looked down at his fists, clenching and releasing his frustration, “ _Naas. Naasad gaa'taylir._ ” 

Ben reclaimed his place in Din’s arms before the _Mand’alor_ spoke, “Who is it? The _jetii_ woman?” 

The rest of the _ade,_ who had been fervently whispering amongst themselves at the sight of him, all bowed together when Din chose to speak. Jayko—head held high in spite of the shame of his failure—bowed his head to Paz before turning to face their leader.

“I do not fear for her, _Mand’alor,_ as much as I do for the _ik’aad_ within her.” 

“ _Tengaanar ni._ ”

Jayko led the way.

* * *

“You failed to mentioned the _jetti_ was with child, Paz.” 

Din felt the pressure of a headache pulse behind his eyes. He had not eaten or slept since the day before last and was now beginning to feel it. He stood with his second over the lithe figure laying abed. The thin blankets did nothing to hide the swell of her stomach as another teen, one of a handful that had remained inside at their arrival, patted her flushed neck and forehead dry. 

“If you remember, oh great leader, it is why I did not allow her to storm that hellhole with blasters ablazing to the skies.” 

“I fail to see how this should be funny.”

“She didn’t think it was either. It’s not. Was a good thing, me putting my foot down when I did. Given the circumstances she probably would have just died taking them all down with her.” 

“Does she have a name?”

“Not one that she was willing to give.”

Din eyed the infantryman with a critical eye, “You really are gone on this one.” 

“What can I say, I’ve got a thing for brunettes.”

The lady in question moaned as she turned—for in spite of the alleged temper, she could be nothing _but_ nobility—and did not wake except to wrap an arm around her waist. 

“This changes everything, Paz.” 

“ _Ibic am naas._ ” 

The warrior crossed his arms, firm in the council that Din could either leave or take. He chose to release the foundling from her duty, sending her back to the rest of her brothers and sisters. Jayko was leading interviews with the _dar’manda_ in the hopes of returning them to their parents, if such connections could be found. If their efforts were successful, nineteen would need to fit between his and Paz’s ships back to Mandalore. If not, then it would settle closer to twenty-three souls— _Dank ferrik._

Din was going to need a bigger ship.

* * *

Extraction took the better part of the night to organize. 

They needed to get out of Drei’k Hugar. Stories of the explosions at the Baggarty Co. were bound to spread farther the longer they stayed. It wasn’t exactly a _quiet_ escape. Secrecy become negligible, for the children and the woman had already been compromised. Speed overtook meticulousness to the extent that it would do no further injury to their precious cargo. Din's healing capabilities had seen to all the children, but could only extend the length of his ship's supplies—the rest would require a professional or enough time. They prayed they could find a proper medidroid or a healer at another port before returning home to Mandalore. Din feared the ill would not make the journey.

Ben had finally succumbed to the stress of his illness and slept fitfully in the same room as the woman. Having them placed so near, the resemblance of their features began to overlap. Din suspected that the boy was her own. Even the little wrinkle between their brows—Din should be _happy_. Ben would awake to the arms of his mother, and they would be _safe_ , if Din had anything to say about it. 

Having no knowledge of their surnames, the _Mand'alor_ could do nothing more than wait. Only consciousness would allow the information to be revealed. Then they could be returned to their kin—whether they be _jettise_ or not. Din couldn’t even contact the _jetiise_ he did know for they had given him no coordinates of any kind. _Only silence_.

A score of unanswered questions outweighed those answered in Din’s mind. New connections amidst so many broken ones. New dangers, and unforeseen futures—all making his head spin. 

It made him long for home, for _his_ home _._ One that was small and scruffy, and liked to put everything in its mouth regardless of _buir’s_ instructions. The white-hot heat threatened to spill over from the dagger thrust into Din’s heart. 

_In. Out. That’s it, Din. Breathe._

For a moment he let despair get the better of him. The last few days, the last two weeks— _by the forge_ —the last _year_ had been one long binge into the shadow of darkness. It was all he could do to keep himself above the surface sometimes, floating in a kind of listlessness that necessity—task after another kriffing task—could not reason with or diminish. Something was bound to break. Or _someone_. 

Din feared it would easily become him. 

“ _Meh gar kyrayc, shuk bah ni._ ” 

Came an exasperated voice from behind. Din let Paz catch him watching the stars tonight. A rough hand bore down on his shoulder, using it for balance as he collapse onto the stone steps beside Din. They looked to the sky until the bounty hunter decided to answer.

“You know I could say the same to you, _mir’sheb_. You fix yourself up?” 

“Sensors are screwed up in the arms, and a little in my left leg. The voicer is shot. It’ll have to be gutted and replaced. Aside from that, a little electricity won’t kill me. However, watching you mope about might do the job instead.” 

Din punched him in his good shoulder, to which Paz shoved him nearly clean off the solid stone steps. They settled back against one another. 

“All I’m saying is that you should try to get some shut eye before dawn. Jax is a fair hand at co-piloting now, but he’s often a little too distracted for my tastes. Given the circumstances, I expect that percentage of success to go way the hell down.” 

“Teenagers.” Din eyed the man, accusing, “Are you trying to bully me to bed?” 

“Didn’t work when we were kids, so I doubt it’ll work now. Not with all this time between then and now to have made you more a bitter and gloomy bastard.” 

Din scoffed, folding arms across a wide beskar-clad chest. 

“See? A perfect picture of melancholy!” Paz stood and stretched, groaning as vertebrae popped with a sound not unlike tree branches cracking, “Just give it a try would you?”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“That is all I ask. Goodnight, _Din_.”

“Night, _Paz_.” 

And the giant of a man left him alone to his thoughts and the silent observation of foreign stars. _Searching._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adiik - “children”, ages 3-13.  
> Vor entye - “Thank you”/”I take on a debt.” An expression meaning you owe a true debt.  
> Vor entye, ner vod. - “I thank you, my comrade.”  
> Gar ru'akaanir urakto - “You have fought hard.”  
> Par ner ijaat - “For my honor.” As in, it was a task that was worth Paz’s honor to complete.  
> Ori’vad - Big brother.  
> Gar enteyor olaror! - You must come!  
> Olaror! - Come! (over/over here/to us/etc.)  
> "Meh gar kyrayc, shuk bah ni." - "You're no use to me dead." An encouragement to go to sleep.  
> Mir'sheb - "smart ass".  
> Meg ru’banar? - What happened?  
> Naas - Nothing.  
> Naasad gaa'taylir. - No one/Nothing help (us).  
> Ik’aad - baby, children under 3.  
> Ibic am naas. - “This change(s) nothing.”  
> Jettise - Jedi (plural)  
> buir - Father


	4. The Thin Red Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How do you feel about two favors from the Mand’alor?”  
> “For the Gran of Kenyen—What do you need?”  
> “A healer.”  
> The Gran snorted, “You’re in luck, Your Highness. I know just the one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not one but /two/ beauties I present before you. I couldn’t help but get this down and out before the rest of my week started. 
> 
> Enjoy lovelies~ 
> 
> I thank you all. I cannot believe the response this is having. As always, translations down at the bottom!

_“Babur bal beskar'gam,  
_ _Ara'nov, aliit,_

 _Mando'a bal Mand'alor—  
_ _An vencuyan mhi._ ”

Education and armor,  
Self-defense, our tribe,

Our language and our leader—  
All help us survive. 

—Mando’ade Children’s Rhyme

* * *

“Back so soon?” 

Three eyes trained on the gloved hand halting the progress of his cart. They followed it up a silver gauntlet to a shoulder clan-marked, before training on the visor of the Mandalorian’s helmet. 

“How do you feel about two favors from the _Mand’alor_?” 

The merchant squinted his eyes, unblinking in their assessment. Din kept both hands visible, his posture open and non-threatening. No sense in doing something stupid—like getting shot over a technicality. 

“For the Gran of Kenyen—What do you need?” 

Decision made, the Gran spicer lifted his finger from a hidden trigger. Din had clocked it a moment before coming near, subtly shifting back a weapon of his own. 

“A healer.”

The Gran snorted, “You’re in luck, Your Highness. I know _just_ the one.” 

* * *

The tiniest woman Din had ever seen stood before the conclave of _ade_ and grinned.

The silence in the ship hanger stretched on—none of the children knowing what to say, and neither of their caretakers willing to break the ancient woman’s concentration.

Keen eyes beneath goggled glasses took in every face—shrewd in a way that made every hair on Din stand on end. 

_Just_ who _had the Gran lead to them?_

“Who is sick?” she croaked.

Her voice was surprisingly soothing—as if the crow of dulcet tones could remind anyone of anything other than a grandmother. 

“We are all fine, _ba’buir_ ,” a togruta girl—Maez—answered.

“ _Ibac cuyir jate.”_

The foundling nodded, adding, “But the _jetii_ and _be’jetii adiik_ are not.” 

“ _Ah…_ ” The ancient one drew the sound out before holding out her gnarled hand—“ _Tengaanar ni, ade._ Show them to me.” 

_“Elek, ba’buir.”_

And Maez took it, leading the ancient one further into the belly of Paz’s ship. It was only then that the _Mando’ade_ realized the healer had been speaking perfect _Mando’a_. 

* * *

“There are two who say their parents are near.” 

Din could hear the reluctance as Paz explained the _dar’manda_ predicament to the Gran. It was unlike them to not see a mission to the end, but even he knew that the longer they stayed on Fortuna, the less likely they would be getting off. There wasn’t much else to do but discuss the issue as they waited until the healer—Maz Kanata—to finish. 

“The others?” the Gran, introducing himself as Phinnes Ppak, asked.

“Will return with us, as is our way.”

“It’s a shame about their parents—”

“—Were will reattempt establish contact on Mandalore. Every child’s safety is our priority. The danger in staying here must be averted _first_ above all personal feelings,” Din shot back, then calming, “It would mean much to my people if you would join us in this effort.” 

Phinnes leaned back in his chair as Maez placed a cup of chai before him, his arms crossing and uncrossing as he mulled over his thoughts. The mess it had been for all of them.

Paz was quiet. Din didn’t dare turn his visor to infer the man’s expression. 

Then a palm slapped him in the back, rattling his _beskar’gam,_ and nearly knocking him forward. 

“No, _’Your Highness_ ’,”—And Din knew Paz was laughing at the strange new ways of the _dar’manda_ insisted upon addressing the _Mand’alor_ —“No I think I will be satisfied by watching the failure of others. Besides, it would be too easy for me to relieve you of your duty.” 

“Ha,” Din could not help but smirk, “He is a comedian.” 

“At least I’m not a joke.”

“ _Mir’sheb_.”

“J _agyc._ ” 

“ _Nar’sheb._ ”

“Not if I shove my heel up yours!”

And Paz lunged, wrapping an arm like a vice around the _Mand’alor’s_ neck as he was boot-checked in the shins.

“ _Osik!”_

“Am I interrupting something, gentlemen?” 

And the two _Mando’ade_ froze tangled up in one another, looking back and then down behind them.

“Healer Kanata—“

“Oh no, do carry on. It’s not every day that I get to see two strapping _Mando’ade_ wrap their big arms around one another—“

And the men leap apart as though a viper pit lay between them. 

“And it’s _Maz_ to you two, after all this. Or maybe _ba’buir_ if you’re feeling particularly affectionate. The children have taken to calling me _Maz’buir_ now, isn’t that just wonderful?” 

“Did you...is it finished?” 

“Oh! Yes, right to the point you Mandalorians are!” And the ancient one laughed at herself, patting the _Mand’alor’s_ hand affectionately, “All good things, all good things! No need to have that death knoll ringing in your ears. The lady’s fever is broken, and the babes are fine. A little sniffle for the darling, but nothing rest and the hot food you Mandalorians like to eat won’t burn out of his system.” 

“And the baby?” Paz whispered, and Din took note to discuss _that_ at a later date. 

“ _Babies_ , you should say. Two bright little stars all twisted up there inside her ready to come out in I’d say...hm…no later than half a year. I understand if you might have assumed she was further along. Not a surprise when the space for one is taken up by _two_.”

The healer seemed beside herself in her good mood about that revelation, enough so to give the _Mando’ade_ the grace they needed to collect themselves. 

_Twins. They are twins._

“And while this should gladden you, and all light returned with the health of not three but four souls, I will also say this—the sickness was intended. It was done to weaken, if not outright kill the four of them.” 

And the ancient one’s face drew grim, folding in on itself, “Walk with me. I am sure you are eager to see them again. All will explained itself in due time.” 

* * *

“Din!” 

He had intended to enter the captain's quarters with the other two quietly, letting the child rest and to speak softly with his mother, but Ben had a mind of his own. 

Din snatched the boy out of the air after the little wizard launched himself from the cot. He didn’t have the heart to reprimand recklessness when the boy seemed so happy to be reunited with Din. 

“It is good to see you well, _dha’ika,”_ Din whispered into inky curls as he held the child close. He’d made the mistake of showing his hand to Paz with the nickname, and did not wish to repeat the offense so publicly.

Realizing their audience and his thoughts had been left for too long, Din settled the boy on his hip. He turned back to Paz intending to reintroduce them, only to stop short. 

Paz Vizla—last of the ancient Vizla clan whose vengeance colored their _beskar’gam_ gold—was struck dumb. 

_Starstruck._

Din turned to follow the Vazla’s gaze—

 _Red_. 

Red hair—bright like fire, like the hot coals deep in the bowels of a forge, or the sun over the burning sand. 

Maz Kanata stepped beside the bed that once housed two, and assisted the woman in braiding her long, damp hair. 

“We seemed to have caught you at the tail-end of your bath. Good, good. It is always good to wash off sickness after it’s passed.” 

Din realized that Maz was very good reading a room. Between the general reticence of _Mando’ade_ in speaking with outsiders _—_ let alone _jetiise—_ and the guarded expression of the lady, it did not look well for their first meeting. The ancient one seemed comfortable taking the role of intermediary to prevent this. 

“The lady thought it best to be seen as herself. I explained that Mandalorians put great value in honesty, and would look favorably on one who put in effort. No need for more disguises.” 

Maz glanced between them beneath her goggles glasses, her tone prompting and clear.

_A caution, but for whom?_

The woman frowned, and even _that_ was lovely. 

“ _—bid_ _mesh’la…”_

“What?” 

That wrinkle formed between her brows—and Din thought that if the woman was truly strong enough to nearly take His second’s head off, he’d be a goner like Paz too. 

“Ignore my friend. He is still recovering from his injuries.” 

“I see…”

“I am glad to see that you and your son are recovering.” 

The lady fiddled with the tail of her long braid in what might have been nerves, “I thank you for taking care of him...”

Maz cleared her throat _pointedly_.

The lady’s glare sharpened to the ancient one before swiveling back to the _Mando’ade_. She straightened from her repose, the swell of her stomach preventing her from completely sitting upright. 

“But I must inform you of a misdirection. You see this boy is not my son—” 

Din’s arms tightened on Ben, the dual sensation of hope and confusion for a moment outweighing his suspicion. 

“Then who is he to you? Who _are_ you?” 

Paz spoke aloud the question they had both been thinking.

Eyes burning, her mouth thinned into a straight red line. Long, elegant hands twitched as though she wished for a weapon. Her gun perhaps? Although that was clear across the room...

_No._

_A saber._

_A light saber._

“My name is Mara June,” she said, her voice rich in emotion as she said her piece, “And that boy in your arms is a son of the Rebellion—the offspring of two of its most famous _heroes_ , to be exact.” 

She spat the words out as a tumultuous glare, like sunlight reflecting off a storm cloud, caught and held Din through his visor-covered eyes. As if the _jetii_ _knew_ where she was looking.

“His name is Ben Solo—my _target_. I am the one who stole him away—It was I who saved his _life_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mand’alor - Leader  
> Mando’ade - the Mandalorian People  
> Ade - children  
> Ba’buir - grandmother/father/parent  
> Ibac cuyir jate - “That is good.”  
> Jetii - Jedi  
> Be’jetti adiik - the Jedi’s child  
> Tengaanar ni, ade. - Show me children.  
> Elek, ba’buir. - Yes, grandmother.  
> Dar’manda - non-Mando  
> Beskar’gam - beskar armor  
> Mer’sheb - Asshole  
> Jagyc - Dick  
> Nar’sheb - Shove it up your ass.  
> Osik - Shit  
> Dha’ika - Little Dark(ling)  
> Jetiise - Jedi (plural)  
> Bid mesh’la - So beautiful.


	5. Terms of Endearment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "—These are the terms of Mandalorian sanctuary. Will you abide by them?"  
> "I will do as you say."  
> "This is our Way. Say your goodbyes, we leave when the ships are ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I introduce a new term in this chapter: "Manda'alor" 
> 
> A term I have created. "Manda" literally means "soul" in Mando'a, but also has many, many other meanings. Manda is also the name of Mandalorian nirvana, or the state of being similar to a Buddhist bodhisattva. "'alor" can mean "sole", and is used as an addition to a noun/verb to denote a leader, teacher, or chief. With this combination it is implied that the Armorer, as a smith, is the spiritual provider to the Mandalorian people. She is this in part by making physical the tenants of Mandalorian philosophy (the act of wearing beskar'gam, Mandalorian-specific weaponry, etc.), but also in giving advice rooted in their history.

She had come to this planet knowing something had called—a _disturbance_ , an outcry.  
  
Maz Kanata sighed, and she felt it in her bones. She was getting to old for this.   
  
Technically, the woman wasn’t lying. It was true that the boy had been her target, and someone—far back in recesses of her mind—had once called her their ‘Mara June’. It was a lie of omission. Maz could appreciate the delicacy in which she handled the duplicity. It would be foolish of the healer not to understand the weight one carried in a name. Given the opportunity to be someone else, even for some small amount of time, might be worthwhile in this case.  
  
Maz could not deny the woman securing her safety the only way a person of her ilk would know how. After all, the enemy remained at large around them.

The strings of the Force were so tangled up between these people and the events that led them to one another. The Force’s presence was particularly strong in this one. Maz feared that to reveal too much, too soon, would break this beautiful, terrible potential.

The ancient one did not dare risk Mara’s tentative trust by clarifying for the _Mando’ade_ , not if she wanted to oversee the children’s births. 

For their welfare alone she would remain complicit. 

* * *

Paz gripped Din’s arm, pulling him back ever so slightly to stand in front—to shield them. “You told me Ben was _your_ son. You certainly acted like a hellcat on a rampage to get to him. Why lie? Why, when I had been more than willing to help?”  
  
Mara scoffed, “Would you understand our situation, if I’d even had the necessary time to explain? I doubt you would grasp the gravity. The scale of how _fucked_ we are. He is the son of Senator Organa and General Solo. In terms of bounties, the boy has one of the largest sums ever recorded on his head. A reward— _dead or alive I will remind you_ —that was placed the moment he was born. Up until the _second_ I put my boot on your neck, I thought you were one of them.”  
  
_Well that complicated things._

Even Din, as ignorant of most galactic-level events as he was, had heard of the Senator Organa's stand against Darth Vader, and of the destruction of Alderaan because of it—a story given in the results of much pain poured out between biceps and glasses of bourbon. 

Paz took in a deep, fortifying breath, “As you can see I am not, nor will I ever be, that. While I can understand your _circumstances_ —” Din felt the weight of the man’s hand as it slid to his shoulder. It, like the rest of this year, was that much heavier, “—it doesn’t explain how he came to be with you, and not safe with his _actual_ mother.”  
  
Din heard the reproach just as well as anyone. One of Vizla’s rank may understand extreme circumstances, but even he could not allow such actions as hers to go unpunished. She must know that, having sought the aid of the _Mando’ade_. Of the _Mand’alor_ himself. It was of the gravest offenses in their culture, one even punishable by dishonorable death—one that they would be forced to consider should she seek sanctuary with the Mandalorians. Their people would ask for no less.  
  
Mara shot out of the bed to standing—impressive, given her condition and illness. A noise of reprimand sounded from the back of the healer’s throat. Maz thrust both hands out to steady the tall woman. She didn't seem not to notice as she gripped the fabric at her swollen waist, a dangerous look in her eyes that begged for no sympathy.   
  
_She’s wearing Paz's clothes. I am surprised they didn't swallow her whole._   
  
“Do not treat me like some _criminal_! I saved this boy's life, bounty hunter. For a year it is _I_ who fed him, clothed him, kept him warm at night—the only one _strong enough_ to protect him. The one who saw and heard it all. The one who suffered for it. I alone knew what they intended to do with the _Skywalker_ _line_.”   
  
_Skywalker. Jetii._  
  
Mara looked fit to collapse at the end of the explosion, heaving as she was to get air into her lungs, tears finally spilling from the stress.  
  
“Mara you _must_ sit down—“  
  
_“Stop it!”_   
  
In a staggering move, accomplished by the use of the Force, Ben Solo dropped like a rock from Din’s arms and onto the ground. Before the _Mando’ade_ could recover to collect him, the boy scrambled and veered between them, stumbling gracelessly to wrap his arms around his kidnapper’s legs. “Stop it! You _hurt_ her. Don’t hurt Mara!”   
  
Reflex had the woman bracing herself, her hands threading through the inky black at the back of the child’s head. Ben shook as she shook, burying his face in the soft fabric at her hip. The fire in the hellcat banked as she shushed the boy’s cries, rocking him in her own way. All were calmed in the ensuing quiet, for the healer’s own level glare would not allow otherwise.  
  
She held him tightly to her, as if she could hide him far away. Din was struck by a similarity of appearances observing them at his distance. Mara sighed, “I am not asking you to understand, but to have mercy. If not for me, then for them. They are innocent of all this. _Yes_ , I lied. I would have done it again. I would have done much to _sacrifice_ —” She swallowed. The fear threatened to well up again, “I am not ashamed. My actions were necessary. You do not have to agree. You do not even have to like me, but I beg you— _take us with you_.”   
  
And she folded covered the boy with her narrow shoulders, “I cannot change what has happened…All I ever did was try to change what _would_.”  
  
The last of the Vizla clan turned away. _In disgust? In pain, or with disappointment?_ Din could not say. Paz's visor caught his own—expectant, before he exited the room. The dim artificial light made the gold of the Vizla's _beskar'gam_ glow. They needed to leave, and _now_. They had run out of time.   
  
_What would you would have me do, vod?  
_  
“It would be hypocritical of me to deny your requests,” Din’s voice was calm. His thoughts guarded, though he knew almost immediately what had to be done. What was _right_. “I cannot say what welcome you will receive on Mandalore. I may be _Mand’alor_ , but my people are passionate—in both opinion and action. You must tell no one of your circumstances, not until a decision has been made. I do not think it will be hard for you to do that.”   
  
Mara June nodded, though she did not lift her face.   
  
“I will provide you with food and shelter, and any medical aid. You will be safe so long as you do as I, or the _arane_ I will assign to you, say. You will never be left alone, or with any of the children. You will make no contact outside of Mandalore. You will not even speak unless ordered to. These are the terms of Mandalorian sanctuary. Will you abide by them?”  
  
“I will do as you say.”  
  
“This is our Way. Say your goodbyes, we leave when the ships are ready.”

Din looked to the healer, nodding as he left—and for many hours more was unable to shake the disappointment in her scrutiny. 

* * *

To say the trip from Fortuna to Mandalore was easy would be an understatement. Yes, the travel itself went relatively smooth. Paz and Din were veterans—any _Mando’ade_ worth their ship would be able to do the same. All in all, it took a week in hyperspace. Three days of regular travel extended to navigate through two asteroid belts, a dodgy refueling, and some particularly clingy gravitational fields. 

Din had thought it best to leave the woman on Paz’s ship. It was bigger for one, and two, it had a door that could be _locked_ . Din trusted Mara June about as far as the sight on his rifle, and trusted that Paz’s honor was too strongly rooted for him to allow the woman to do something stupid. He couldn’t even apologize to the man for the political nightmare he’d stuck them in—not with all the little echoes on the room. 

All Din wanted to do was think, but that was not meant to be, surrounded by tightly-packed and _bored_ children. 

Even with the help of the elder ones, there was only so much to be done to entertain all _eighteen_ of them, even split between two ships as they were. Squabbles were inevitable and the potential of being recaptured a very real fear branded in the back of their minds. 

Ben was particularly temperamental having been separated from his Mara June after only just being reunited. He didn’t play well with the others, and chose rarely to socialize—level of unexpected shyness keeping him apart. He could be found for the better part of the journey sitting at Din’s feet, if not outright in the hunter’s lap. Din tried not to play favorites, comforting the littles as best he could when they had need of it, but Ben was a jealous boy. 

Din would be too, after everything that happened. 

By the time they engaged the landing gears—just outside Manda with crowd of _Mando’ade_ waiting below them—Din was more than happy to be home.

* * *

“ _Holy_ s _hit_ , Djarin.”

Cara was as stunned as the rest of Manda's denizens when the children spilled out of the starships to greet them, “What in _haran_ did you _do_?” 

“I was successful.” 

“I’ll fekking say—”

“ _Language_ , Dune. Little echoes.” And the Mandalorian pointed to the darkling peeking out from behind the folds of his cape.

“Holy shit, look at you! What’s your name, curly-cue?” The shock-trooper grinned, squatting down to get a better look at Ben who hid his face behind Din’s leg at the scrutiny. 

“I’m Ben Solo, and you’re Carasynthia Dune. Your armor is nice. It’s not as good as Din’s.” 

The shock trooper’s eyebrows shot to her hairline glancing between Din and the kid. He lifted one shoulder, as if to say ‘Don’t ask me.’ 

“He is like Grogu,” was all he said aloud. 

“You’re shitting me. A little Jedi. I’ll be damned, you found another one.”

Din sighed, giving up on that particular fight, “We need to see the Armorer—“ 

“—She’s in a _mood._ ” 

Cara stood, brushing her hands off as she surveyed the younglings Din had brought back—so _many_ and so varied. “You’re _late_ as far as she’s concerned—which is not much, but it’s enough to inconvenience her. There’s a stink going through the clans. Nothing she’ll tell me about, so it’s good you finally made it home to deal with it.” 

“Deal with what?” Paz asked, approaching their group of three. Mara was being escorted a ways away by Jayko and Maez—the eldest boy and girl. Both were familiar enough with the woman to feel less oppressive than the actual _arane_ she would soon be under the watchful eyes of. 

Another problem Din was going to have to address, and _quick._

Cara looked from the infantryman’s boots to his belt then up and _up_. She let out a low appreciative whistle.

“Well, if you aren’t a _tall_ drink of Castillian agua. Din, how dare you. You’ve been holding out on me. Cara Dune, at your service. I’m this idiot’s back-up.”

She stuck out her hand and Paz took it, bracing their forearms together in the warrior’s handshake, “His _other_ back-up. At your service, anytime _—especially_ with arms like that.”

“I might throw up.”

“Oh shove off, Your Mand’alorship. It’s time to go meet your maker.” 

Din sighed, lifting the little sorcerer up, “I was afraid you were going to say that.” 

* * *

“What have you brought me, Din Djarin.” 

_That seemed less like a question..._

Din reminded himself that there wasn’t much difference between them now—in age, rank, or social standing—and yet, she still made him feel caught, like an _ade_ with his trousers down. It didn’t help that she was at her forge, its bellows stretching the height of the great room she’d chosen to center it in. The hammer came down. Bright sparks lit then died beneath her. Over and over, the Armorer shaped what she willed—the last of her kind, the last of the _Manda’alor_. 

The Armorer’s back was to them, her question hanging in the air, and so she might not have seen the boy in Dins arms or the infantryman beside them, but Din doubted she had not heard them. “Seventeen _manda_ ,” Paz announced, “With four _dar’manda_ uninitiated—including twins not having taken their first breath.” 

The clang of the hammer resounded and stopped. Silence—then the careful creak of oiled leather as a golden helmet turned to take them in. “I see one soul, but where is one who carries three within it?” 

“Just outside, under the eye of Cara, Jayko, and Maez. She is why we must speak urgently,” Paz was careful in how he worded the introduction. 

Din had absolute sway as _Mand’alor—_ regardless of him being unexpected, unintended, and, to some, an unwanted one at that—but the Armorer was the guardian of the _Mando’ade_ soul. How she decided to feel about Mara June’s situation would create a ripple effect, and would color the _dar’manda_ woman’s every interaction. 

They _needed_ her on their side. 

The Armorer stared at Paz, and then to Din. With a hammer in one hand, the brace of flame in a wolf’s jaw in her other, she could not have been more resplendent. 

“You will _explain_ ,” the Armorer growled, shoving the metal into the water fix where it sizzled, popped, and hissed.

“Bring them in.” 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think the Mando’ade are like Sparta, where the Jedi are similar to Athenians. Makes sense why they would have such opposing ideals and identities.
> 
> Mando'ade - The children of Manda  
> Mand'alor - Leader  
> Jetii - Jedi  
> Haran - Hell  
> arane - guards/body guards  
> manda - in this context, it is soul  
> dar'manda - without soul  
> ade - children  
> Manda'alor - an Armorer, a spiritual guide for the Mandalorian people.  
> beskar - a rare form of metal used in Mandalorian culture for weapons and armor. Strong enough to block a light saber.


End file.
